


Five Times Peter's Hands Were Gentle

by Codee21



Series: Let’s call it Parkner, because Parley sounds like Parsley [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Adoption, Angst with a Happy Ending, But not to Stark Industries, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Peter Parker, Field Trip, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener’s Father - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of homophobia, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Philadelphia, Pining, Protective Peter Parker, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, Running Away, Sexual Harassment, Swearing, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, broken glass, but not by the main characters, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codee21/pseuds/Codee21
Summary: and one time they weren't.When Harley ran away from his abusive home, he'd hoped that he was also running toward a better one with Tony Stark. And he was right - Tony would quickly become everything that his own father wasn't.But he was wrong in assuming that Tony would be the only person he'd build a new life with in New York.~Inspired by “The Runaway” by twenty3, prior reading not necessary
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener & Tony Stark & Stephen Strange, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Harley Keener, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Series: Let’s call it Parkner, because Parley sounds like Parsley [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764172
Comments: 86
Kudos: 437





	1. Bruises

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Runaway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160760) by [twenty3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twenty3/pseuds/twenty3). 



> Hi all, I must say that I did NOT expect to be back on the writing scene so soon! But I was inspired by twenty3's amazing IronStrange work "The Runaway", and my brain would NOT give up on the idea of filling in some of the original's off-screen moments to add a Parkner twist. Sooo here I am, doing just that, with the permission of the author. I'll be updating weekly, and have the next chapter written already.
> 
> If you haven't read "The Runaway" don't worry, I'll be making the necessary plot points clear, but as I said above it is an AMAZING story and I obviously highly recommend it.
> 
> For those of you who have read "The Runaway", this chapter takes place during Chapter 4.
> 
> Enjoy!

1

Harley didn’t know his pants size.

He used to, of course. Money had been tight growing up, but there was usually enough for him to get clothes that fit right when they went shopping at the thrift store two towns over. A few years ago, though, he’d hit a growth spurt that still hadn’t ended. He’d had enough to deal with in the shitshow that was his post-Snap life in Rose Hill, Tennessee; getting new clothes to accommodate his taller frame hadn’t even made it onto his to-do list. And he knew that he’d lost an unhealthy amount of weight since his mom and sister had been killed by a car with a Snapped driver, leaving him alone with the father who had reappeared out of nowhere about a year prior.

So even Harley, with his every-day-is-sweatshirt-day wardrobe preferences, could see why his jeans that kept riding down and yet somehow still didn’t cover his ankles did little to convince fashion-forward Peter that he didn’t need to try any on in the dressing room. “Come on,” the other teen prodded after much protest on Harley’s end, “Mr. Stark gave us his credit card **to get you clothes** , we might as well make sure they actually fit.” 

His words were frustratingly reasonable, and Harley knew that he wouldn’t be able to push the issue without making it into a **thing** _._ He didn’t want to make it into a **thing**. He’d just been reunited with his best friend in the world, and it was a whole lot easier to fall back into their old pattern of playful banter than address why exactly he’d (hopefully) be living with Tony in New York for the foreseeable future. 

And so he sighed, and Peter grinned at the sound of defeat. He grabbed Harley a few pairs of jeans in a range of sizes, using the other boy’s arms as a clothes rack to stack layers and layers of denim until they threatened to give out from the weight. Despite this burden, Harley still somehow managed to snag a few very oversized shirts and hoodies in protest as Peter guided him to the nearest dressing room. This time it was Peter’s turn to sigh good-naturedly, but he didn’t say anything, which Harley took as a win. 

Harley entered the empty single-stall dressing room, and Peter parked himself in the chair just outside the entrance, settling in for a fashion show. 

Once the door had safely closed and locked behind him, Harley was free to stare at the daunting heap of denim in dread. _You_ _can do this_ , he silently assured himself, fully aware that Peter’s spidey senses would allow him to hear any words Harley spoke aloud. _Just take it slow. Try on the ones that look like they’ll fit the best first, and maybe they’ll be perfect and you won’t have to try on any more._

He hissed in pain as he eased his pants off, a sound he was sure Peter heard and would hopefully chalk up to Harley’s distaste for clothes shopping. His body ached less than it had a few days ago, when he’d first received the marks that now littered his tanned skin, but that didn’t mean he was entirely without pain - a pain that again flared as he stepped out of his ill-fitting jeans to try on the first new pair. 

They didn’t fit, and Harley’s heart sank. The hem was still short enough to show off a full two inches of ankle, an obvious flaw that wouldn’t pass Peter’s inspection. “First pair’s a no-go,” he announced, again knowing that the other teen would hear him. 

Changing into the second pair was a bit easier. This one fit him length-wise, but was cut uncomfortably tight. Since he had every intention of getting back the weight he’d lost rather than losing more, he tossed this pair into the reject pile in the corner and informed Peter of the outcome.

Harley thought that third pair fit him just fine. They covered his ankles, and left him room to gain a few pounds and/or inches without becoming too short or tight. He stepped out of the dressing room to show Peter, and the other teen approved. To Harley’s dismay, though, Peter still insisted that he try on a few more pairs to see whether there were any that fit him better at the size he was now. “Don’t worry about the price,” the other teen assured him, as if the price tag was the most pressing reason Harley was hesitating. “Mr. Stark’s a billionaire. He’ll just be happy that you’re properly dressed.” 

A little hypocritical, coming from the boy who continued to resist Tony’s financial support, but Harley knew he wasn’t exactly in a position to throw the first stone here. Once again, he sighed in defeat.

By the fifth pair, Harley had a system that worked well, bending over as little as possible since most of the bruises were on his torso and leaning on the dressing room wall for support. 

His system worked **too** well. He got cocky. Once the jeans were on, he pulled off the hoodie and t-shirt he currently wore with a wince, and twisted while taking a few steps to get a new shirt to try on from the opposite corner. And in doing so, he tripped over the hem of the jeans that were too long, for an unfortunate change of pace. Harley’s core muscle strength was a joke right now, between malnourishment and injury, and so he was unable to right himself in time to stop himself from fully falling. He hit the wall with a crash and an uncontrolled sound of pain, upending the stool in the corner in the process. 

“Harley?” called Peter from outside, his tone mildly alarmed. 

Harley didn’t answer as he pulled himself up to sit against the wall. If he opened his mouth he knew that another moan would escape, and that really wouldn’t help the situation. 

“Harls?” asked Peter again, this time sounding even more worried. “You okay in there?”

Again Harley didn’t answer, trying to get his breathing under control. The sudden impact had shaken something loose in his brain, bringing back memories of the fists that had given him the marks that made moving so uncomfortable. 

“Harley, if you don’t answer I’m … I’m gonna come in? So tell me now if you’re okay.”

Harley closed his eyes, willing his breathing and heart rate to return to normal. He had mild success, but before he could answer Peter he heard the sound of the lock on the door quietly snapping. The other teen stepped into the dressing room, quickly shutting the door behind him. 

He turned... and froze as he saw the bruises on Harley’s bare chest and back.

“They look worse than they feel,” said Harley quietly in an attempt to break the tense silence that had fallen.

“That’s not really comforting.” Peter’s tone was calm but obviously forced. “Because they look pretty damn bad.”

Harley didn’t know how to answer that.

After a moment’s pause, Peter took a step closer to Harley, holding both hands up in the universal sign of _I’m not going to hurt you_. “What can I do to help?” he asked quietly. 

Harley’s heart swelled with some undefinable emotion at Peter’s obvious attempts to make him comfortable. He trusted Peter. He trusted Peter with his life. And he trusted Peter enough to answer the hidden question that he hadn’t voiced but shone clearly in his eyes as he took another careful step forward.

“This is why I ran away,” he whispered. Peter seemed to deflate as his suspicions were confirmed. 

“Your dad?”

Harley nodded. 

“...Was this the first time?” Another step closer.

Harley shook his head.

One more step, and now Peter was standing in front of him, looking down at him with an expression torn between sadness and compassion.

“Can you help me up?” Harley asked.

Peter nodded and crouched down slowly, as if Harley was a spooked animal that needed calming. He seemed to sense that Harley would need more than just a hand to get back on his feet, and so he carefully wrapped one arm around Harley’s waist while using the other to grasp his shoulder. 

Peter’s hands were cool and steady and gentle against his bare, sore skin, and for some strange reason that had nothing to do with pain, Harley felt the sudden urge to cry. 

He pushed down the feeling, and a moment later he and Peter were standing side by side. 

“I’m glad you’re here now,” whispered Peter. “We’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Harley closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him comfortingly. 

Peter started to say something else, but this time Harley cut him off, ready to be done with this conversation. “Third pair?” 

Peter just nodded, understanding. “Third pair.”


	2. The Color Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you for the AMAZING response to the first chapter! I hope this next one lives up to your expectations! I haven't finished the third one yet, but I wanted to post a few days early to show my appreciation for you all. I'll have more free time to write once I take this final exam in *checks watch* less than 30 minutes, so expect an update in a week or less. 
> 
> For those who have read The Runaway by twenty3 (again, HIGHLY recommend), this chapter takes place during Chapter 8!

2

There were many things that Harley missed about Tennessee. 

He missed the color green, for starters. New York City had its own sort of industrial beauty, but he could count the number of times he’d seen a tree or patch of grass in the last month on one hand. For a kid who’d spent a good portion of his life living next door to acres of corn and soybean fields, the sudden shift in his daily color palette was jarring.

He missed the food - fresh cornbread, grits, sweet potato casserole, and all the other things his mom used to cook whenever she could spare time between work shifts. His diet since moving in with Tony had largely consisted of city take-out staples like pizza and Thai. Even the barbeque place that was within walking distance of Stark Tower was just a Northernized version of the Southern comfort foods he’d grown up with.

He missed the freedom that came with riding dirt bikes he’d built from scraps down empty dirt roads, the way that the wind would blow his hair from his face and make his unbuttoned flannel flutter like a cape. 

He missed being able to see the stars, and still had a reflexive habit of looking up whenever he was outdoors at night, searching for pinpricks of light that were no longer there. 

He missed the small comfort of visiting his mother’s and sister’s graves.

Summer humidity was **distinctly** not on the list of things he was wistful about leaving behind in Tennessee. 

His father was the reason he’d run away in the first place.

And yet, in the less than twenty-four hours he’d been back in this godforsaken state, all he’d really done was spend time dealing with the two things he was happy to escape when he left. He’d been too nervous about the hearings they’d flown down here for to appreciate the long stretches of grass between the hotel and the courthouse, or to actually taste the food that Tony kept pushing in front of him worriedly. And he knew they didn’t have time to detour from Knoxville to Rose Hill just to visit the cemetery either, though Tony would undoubtedly upend his own schedule to make it work if he expressed that secret desire out loud. 

So when Peter suggested that they go to the park he’d seen down the street with the remaining time they had left before his father’s probate hearing, it was Harley’s first instinct to refuse in favor of staying in the air-conditioned deli they’d escaped into. 

“You sure you don’t want to go see some green, cowboy?” Peter insisted softly. “I saw a couple trees when we drove by before. And flowers.”

Harley looked over at Peter curiously. He hadn’t realized that he’d made this little piece of homesickness quite so obvious. 

The other teen was looking down, now, avoiding Harley’s gaze by slowly shredding the paper napkin in his lap. 

Maybe he hadn’t made it obvious. It didn’t seem to be something Tony or Stephen had caught onto, or they would have made a big deal about taking him to Central Park. Maybe Peter had just been paying attention, in that quiet way he sometimes had of picking up on things that others thought they hid well.

He took a minute to process the strange feeling that came with realizing Peter might have noticed something about him that he hadn’t even consciously admitted to himself. “Yeah,” he agreed, once the moment had passed. “That’s not a half bad idea. I **will** complain about the heat if you drag me outside, though.”

Peter looked up at him and smiled. “Trust me, so will I.”

Harley held true to that promise. As they crossed the road and began to stroll down one of the paths in the small gated park, he spoke in a near-constant soliloquy about the way the humid air made his hair stick uncomfortably to his forehead, and how the incessant sun turned the suit Tony had forced him to wear into an oven. He ranted about how each breath felt like trying to inhale with a wet towel over his face, and recounted how he’d once gotten a burn on his leg from a penny that had been left in a car for too long. 

Deep down, Harley knew it wasn’t the heat that was really bothering him. Did he hate it? Yes. Had he gotten used to dealing with it, living in this state for fifteen years? Also yes. But it was easier to talk about the weather than what had just happened in that courtroom less than an hour ago. He didn’t want to talk about his father. He didn’t want to talk about how he’d just had to recount every single horrible thing that his dad had done in excruciating detail to a judge he didn’t know, in front of Happy, in front of **Peter**. He didn’t want to talk about the lawyer who’d tried to blame him for the abuse he’d suffered, or the cold eyes of the man who’d committed each of those acts as they glared at him from behind the defendant table. 

So, he complained about the heat. Peter understood what he was trying to say all the same. 

Harley wasn’t sure if it was the ranting, the greenness of the park, or some combination thereof, but by the end he did feel just the slightest bit better. Still, when the time came for them to head back and rejoin the others so they could return to the courthouse, his resolve waivered. Did they really need him there for the probate hearing? He just wanted this to be over. All he wanted was a quick confirmation that he would be able to return to New York with Tony, that they wouldn’t try to force him to stay here in Tennessee. Because he **would** run again if that happened. He didn’t care how much he’d missed good food or the view of the stars at night - as long as he knew that Tony still wanted him in New York, he would never stop fighting to be there. He didn't care if -

Peter slid his hand into Harley’s and squeezed reassuringly. “You’ve can do this, Harls. Just a little bit longer and then we can go home.” 

The words made Harley feel warm in a way that was exponentially more pleasant than the hot sun beating down on his neck. 

He took a deep breath, nodded, and squeezed back.

As they walked back toward the car, neither boy moved to pull away.


	3. Rainbow Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol whoops, my hand slipped and gave Peter some character depth??  
> Also, I can count on one hand the number of times that I have played Mario Kart. I did some research by watching let's plays on youtube, but if anything is inaccurate here now you know why.
> 
> This chapter takes place during Chapter 16 of "The Runaway" by twenty3 - again, if you haven't read it yet, I HIGHLY recommend it!
> 
> Enjoy!

3

Harley groaned and chucked the gamecube controller in Peter’s direction. He wasn’t trying to hit his friend, necessarily - Peter’s Spidey senses would never let him get hit, even if there was no force behind the throw. Harley just wanted it out of his sight for a moment, in the hopes of lessening the sting of the frankly embarrassing loss he’d just suffered. “Have I mentioned that I hate you?”

“You’re lying,” retorted Peter with a grin.

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Why would I lie?”

Peter examined his nails nonchalantly “Because you’re jealous of my skills.”

“Skills?” Harley scoffed.

“The Mario Kart skills that let me kick your ass just now. Don’t you remember? Or did all of the virtual walls you drove into give you a real concussion?”

“That wasn’t **skill** . That was spider reflexes and **luck**.”

“I don’t think anyone’s accused me of being lucky before.” 

Peter turned to the adults sitting on the couch, who were watching this latest squabble while trying to conceal smiles, to varying degrees of success. If acting unimpressed was a contest in itself, Happy would be in the lead right now by a comfortable margin, with just the barest hint of amusement glimmering in his eyes. May, at the other end of the spectrum, was all but laughing aloud at the boys’ antics. 

“Hear that, Aunt May?” asked Peter. “Looks like the Parker luck is finally good for something. Shitty life circumstances, unbeatable at video games.”

“Language,” chastised May as she swatted at her nephew’s head half-heartedly. 

He ducked her hand with ease, his smile widening.

“Unbeatable?” Harley interrupted. “Oh it is **so** on, Spider boy.” 

Harley scrambled to find the controller he’d thrown a moment earlier. Just as he’d located it and dove head-first across their nest of pillows and blankets, however, Peter snatched it up with a triumphant shout. 

“Ha! My turn to choose the track.”

“Nope,” replied Harley as he wrestled with the pile of pillows he’d thrown himself into and fought his way back to a sitting position. 

“You’ve picked the last six.”

“Lies and slander! And as the belated birthday boy it is my right -”

“So is Peter lying, or is it your right because it’s your party? Pick one, cowboy,” chimed a voice from an armchair in the corner.

“Not helping, MJ!” cried Harley as he made a swipe for the controller in Peter’s hand. Peter dodged without even turning away from the TV as he scrolled through the course selection screen. 

Stupid Spidey powers. Not. Fair.

“Wasn’t trying to,” MJ retorted.

“Didn’t Peter already win the tournament?” asked Stephen, slight confusion evident in his tone. Though he’d happily played along when instructed, it was clear that video games hadn’t been his thing even before he’d enrolled at Hogwarts.

“He did. Harley’s just a sore loser,” explained Tony next to him.

“Why must you call me out like this, old man?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“Tonyyy,” Harley whined.

“Harleyyy,” whined Tony in response.

“Why are Stank and mini-Stank whining? What did I miss?” asked Rhodey as he returned from the kitchen, a can of soda in one hand and a large bowl of chips in the other. 

“Tony hates me,” explained Harley before said billionaire could open his mouth.

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what that piece of paper I signed said. _I agree to adopt Harley Keener as my own lawful child, and to incur upon myself all responsibilities of a parent - except when he’s losing in Mario Kart, because then all bets are off._ ”

Rhodey gave a quick retort that led to the two men trading jabs back and forth, but Harley didn’t hear a word of it. He’d stopped listening when Tony said **adopt**. 

The word had been thrown around so much today, and each time he heard it it grabbed at his mind and held on for a few seconds longer than all the rest in the sentence. Because it meant that Tony wanted him.

Tony _wanted_ him.

Less than twelve hours ago, Tony Stark had signed a piece of paper in front of a judge and lawyers promising to care for Harley like he was his father - and, okay, that phrasing almost made him laugh. Because ever since Tony had taken him in three months ago, soaking wet and shaking and covered in bruises - ever since Tony had crashed into his garage **years** ago - he’d treated Harley better than Jeff Keener ever had. 

Before today, a small ( _shrinking by the day, but still persistent_ ) part of him had chalked it up to Tony just being the good guy that he was. And all the while he’d lived with a near-constant monologue in his head that _today someone might show up to ship you back to Tennessee, Keener, and you’re gonna have to go along with it if Tony doesn’t want to go through the hassle of getting you back._

But now, those long months of fear and uncertainty were over. He would never be forced to leave New York again, because Tony had signed a document promising that Stark Tower was his home now. And with a promise like that, it was damn near impossible to cling to that irrational fear that Tony didn’t care whether he was there or not.

Tony wanted him to stay in New York, had done everything in his power to keep him there. 

And he wasn’t the only one who had fought for Harley to stay.

Without thinking, Harley turned toward the boy who was absolutely crushing him in Mario Kart. Said boy was already staring at him with a small smile, brown eyes warm in a way that made Harley blush. Peter seemed to be waiting for Harley to tune back into the world around him - and for a second he wondered how Peter had learned to notice when he zoned out to hear himself think.

That internal question evaporated when Peter, apparently recognizing that Harley was paying attention again, jerked his head toward the TV. Harley’s gaze followed the movement and he looked up at the screen - 

\- and saw that the little blinking yellow rectangle had settled over two words that would strike fear in the heart of any gamer:

_Rainbow Road._

“ _Peter no_ ,” breathed Harley. 

Peter’s grin turned devilish. “Peter **yes**.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Peter raised the controller in his hands up nearly to eye-level, staring Harley down as he pressed A with a flourish. “I did.”

Harley’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it. Powers or no powers, I’m taking you down, Parker.”

  
  


Harley did not, in fact, take Peter down.

Peter’s winning streak continued long after MJ and Ned and Happy and Rhodey and May had all left, and remained unbroken even as Tony and Stephen said goodnight and headed to bed themselves. 

“Alright Spider boy,” said Harley once the two men were gone, “the gloves are coming off and the curses are coming out. And Tony isn’t around to cover your innocent ears this time.” 

Peter flipped him off, and Harley laughed.

Three races later and Harley had already sworn more than he had in the past two weeks combined. Another three and he was fading fast, reflexes slowing even further so that the gap between his reaction time and Peter’s was hilariously unbridgeable. 

But even while getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter, Harley was having too much fun playing and bickering with Peter to want to stop doing either.

He lost his final race at the Daisy Cruiser track ( ** _Daisy Cruiser_ ** _, how embarrassing was that to lose on?)_ stifling a yawn as they crossed the finish line. It wasn’t even close, Peter won by a mile. And try as he might, he just couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

Harley lobbed the controller at Peter’s head, knowing full well that his **Peter tingle** would prevent any harm, before throwing himself face first onto the closest pile of pillows. “I surrender,” he grumbled into the fabric.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that?”

Harley lifted his head from the pillows so his voice wouldn’t be muffled. “I said -” 

He stopped suddenly, realizing Peter’s trick. “Oh you asshole, of course you heard that,” he huffed, picking up the item closest to him - _another throw pillow, and wasn’t the name fitting here_ \- and chucked that in Peter’s general direction too. 

“Why are you always **throwing things at me**?” Harley felt the soft thud of a retaliatory pillow landing on his back, which he promptly ignored. He didn’t have the energy to lift his head again, but he just knew that Peter had one of those adorable pouts on his face.

“Because I know you’ll catch them without getting hurt.”

“That doesn’t explain why though.”

“Because I know you’ll catch them without getting hurt **and** it’s how I show my frustration that you’re so goddamn perfect all the time. Happy?”

Peter was quiet for a moment, and Harley’s heart rate kicked up a few notches as he worried that he’d said something wrong.

“I’m not perfect,” Peter finally said quietly.

“Can it Parker, this isn’t a conversation to have at… FRIDAY, what time is it?”

A female voice with an Irish lilt spoke from the ceiling. “It’s two thirty-three am, Mini Boss.”

“Thanks FRI … see Peter, this isn’t a conversation to be having at two thirty-three am.”

Peter didn’t say anything.

After what felt like a full minute of silence, Harley grudgingly forced himself to sit upright. “Is this a conversation you want to have at two thirty-three am?” _Probably two thirty-four at this point,_ Harley silently corrected himself, _but that’s not really important right now._

Peter shrugged, looking anywhere except at Harley. “Not really. It just makes me a little uncomfortable, like I’m making you think I’m someone that I’m not. I’ve… I’ve fucked up before, Harley. Really badly. People I didn’t save, villains I didn’t stop soon enough...”

“Were you doing the best that you could?”

Peter finally looked up and made eye contact. His head tilted in confusion. “What?”

“Everyone fucks up, Pete. I’ve fucked up before.”

“Yeah, but no one’s died because of your mistakes.”

“No,” Harley admitted, “but I’m sure that’s happened to Tony and Stephen. It’s something all you superheroes go through at some point, I think. Everything you do is life or death. But I … with the mistakes I’ve made, I know it’s not the same, but it still makes me feel better to know that deep down I was doing the best that I could. And I know that you were too.”

“How do you know?” Peter asked, and _god_ , his voice sounded so broken that Harley felt the sudden, strange urge to hold him until all that pain and uncertainty disappeared. 

He managed to suppress the urge ( _t_ _here would be plenty of time to unpack whatever it meant later)_ and instead gave Peter a small, tired smile. “Because I know you. That’s what I meant, when I said you’re perfect. You’re always doing the best that you can, and your best is usually really, **really** good.”

The other boy grew quiet again, but just as Harley was about to open his mouth to say something else ( _he wasn’t sure what words would have come out, honestly, he was drop dead exhausted at this point_ ), Peter spoke. “That… that’s pretty helpful, actually. Thanks, Harley.”

Harley shrugged. “You’ve helped keep me going these past few months. You and Tony. So I’m here to return the favor, whenever you need me. Even if that’s at two thirty-three in the goddamn morning.

The smile Peter gave him was small but genuine. “Let’s get some sleep then, Stark.”

Harley let himself fall to the side into another pile of pillows. “Gladly,” he groaned, letting his eyes fall closed as he curled into a more comfortable position 

Peter chuckled. “Just because I’m sleeping out here doesn’t mean you have to. You have a perfectly good bed about 50 feet away.”

“Don’t care. Too tired.”

“Shouldn’t you brush your teeth?”

“Don’t. Care.”

Harley heard rustling as Peter got up to change into pajamas and brush his teeth before settling in at the opposite end of the pillow nest. 

Just as he was tipping over the edge of wakefulness into the realm of sleep, Harley felt the sudden weight of a blanket being carefully draped over him. A cool, steady hand gently swept tangles of long curls away from his face.

The voice that spoke was so soft that he almost didn’t hear it. “Goodnight, Harley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last bit of Peter and Harley's conversation riffs off of a scene from Season 5 episode 3 of The Magicians - the idea of forgiving yourself for mistakes that you've made as long as you were doing your best at the time. I don't think I use any of the lines from the show directly and the context is wildly different, but I didn't want to use the idea without giving credit for the inspiration.


	4. The City of Brotherly Love (Philadelphia part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I am SO sorry for the delay. I’m taking a summer class for my school right now so between that and being a first-time DM (yes I’m a nerd who plays D&D) I am severely lacking free time to write. 
> 
> This takes place during Chapter 20 of “The Runaway”, and at this point I’m going to be deviating a little from the story. Specifically, I’m changing the destination of their class field trip from Montreal to Philadelphia, and I’m doing so for two reasons. Number one, I have never been to Montreal, or anywhere in Canada for that matter, and as I said am severely lacking time to do the research it would have taken to write something that’s accurate to the city and country and with the vibe I’m going for. And number two, I’m Philly born and raised, and I love my city. We get a bad rep but there are so many things I love about this place, and I kept picturing Harley and Peter visiting some of my favorite places and I couldn’t resist. I hope none of you mind the change too much, especially you twenty3! 
> 
> This is only part one of their Philly trip, but it was already as long as the other chapters if not longer and I felt really bad about not giving you guys content for so long, so, enjoy! Haven’t decided whether I’ll make the rest of Philly #5 of the 5+1, or if it’ll just be #4 part two.

4

Harley sucked at roller skating.

Like, **really** sucked. 

_“It’s easy!”_ Peter had said. _“Just like sliding on hardwood floors with socks on!”_ he’d said. 

Harley should have known not to trust a **literal superhero with enhanced physical abilities** to make that kind of judgement call for him. 

He clung to the short wall of the outdoor roller skating rink, fighting to keep himself upright, watching enviously as Peter did another lap of the oval with effortless grace. Which he really needed to dial down a few notches, Harley realized belatedly, not only because it was making him feel bad about himself but also because it was bound to make Flash and their other classmates suspicious. 

Peter effortlessly slowed to a stop in front of him, with a smile brighter than all the strings of lights that formed a canopy above them. He reached out a hand to Harley. “Want to take a lap with me?”

Harley shook his head vigorously. “MJ, help me!” he mock-whispered to the girl standing on the other side of the wall. She snorted as she took another sip of her birch beer. “Not a chance, cowboy.” 

“Betrayal! Sabotage!” Harley chanced letting go of the barrier with one hand, clenching a hand over his heart in mock outrage to mask his very real feelings of discomfort. He’d left his old home to **prevent** himself from getting bruises. He wasn’t about to go doing stupid shit that would inevitably leave him with a body littered with blue and purple again, please and thank you. 

The thought made him wince slightly. He was getting better about making casual references to what his life had been like just over a year ago, a personal task he’d undertaken in an effort to feel more comfortable with his past, but maybe this attempt at lightheartedness had gone a little too far. 

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could still _feel_ what it was like to have a body that ached with every movement.

As if he could read Harley’s mind, Peter’s grin faded into a more serious expression. “You know I won’t let you fall, Harls.”

_You know what?_ Harley thought to himself. 

_Fuck it._

Harley half-threw himself at Peter in an impulsive display of complete trust, trying and failing to keep his feet underneath him. 

Peter laughed in startled surprise. Despite being caught unawares, he easily stopped Harley’s downward trajectory, reaching out with both hands to grip the other boy’s upper arms. His hold was as gentle as it could be, only applying the absolute minimum force needed to keep Harley vertical. 

Once Peter had helped Harley get his skates ( _plastic death traps_ , as he now mentally referred to them as) firmly back on the rubber-padded rink floor, he readjusted their position so their only point of contact was a hand on Harley’s forearm. 

“Ready?” he asked quietly.

Harley took a deep breath and nodded. 

In his first few steps away from the wall, Harley’s knees shook in a way that made him feel guilty for every time he’d laughed at a baby foal back in Tennessee as they struggled to stand on four gangly legs too long for their little bodies. _“Who’s laughing now, human?”_ he imagined they would taunt, if horses could talk. 

He risked a quick glance toward the section of wall he’d just vacated, confirming his suspicion that the girl on the other side was filming every moment of his embarrassment. _MJ. MJ is definitely the one laughing here._

Another few steps and words of encouragement from Peter, and _okay, maybe this isn’t as bad as you thought._

By the time they’d done a full lap of the rink, Harley was… enjoying himself? Kind of? He still was horrible, of course, but each time he’d started to stumble too much Peter had steadied him with an arm around his waist. For a split second Harley felt the urge to pretend to stumble a few more times so he could feel Peter’s body pressed up against his again, a thought that made him immediately flush. _Peter is your_ **_best friend_ ** _, dumbass, you aren’t supposed to have those thoughts about your_ **_friends_ ** _, much less your friends who you’re 98% sure aren’t into dudes._

“I bet the bridge is even prettier at night,” said Peter, interrupting the downward spiral of Harley’s conscience.

“Hmm?”

Peter gestured toward the piece of architecture in question, a large bridge spanning the river that the skating rink bordered on. Harley had been looking off in its general direction as they skated and he battled his unwelcome thoughts, so it was only natural for Peter to assume that he was actually **interested** in what he was staring at. “I think Mr. Harrington said it’s called the Ben Franklin?”

“Yeah, it is,” replied Harley after a moment's pause. “I googled some pictures. Once the sun goes down it’ll light up in blue and purple.” 

_You’re beautiful._ Harley swallowed the words. _No, Harley, you’re in the City of Brotherly Love._ **_Brotherly._ ** _And you should look at Peter like a brother._ “It’s beautiful.” After a moment, he added quickly, “Still not as pretty as the Brooklyn, though.”

Peter laughed. “Of course. Our city’s the best at everything, and saying otherwise is treason. But Philly’s been a close second, so far.”

Harley hummed in agreement. They’d been on this class trip for four days, now, and honestly he couldn’t think of anything they’d done or seen that he hadn’t liked. He’d only ever heard bad things about Philadelphia before, and sure they were probably only being shown the upscale touristy parts of the city, but it was still better than the violent, sports-loving, weird-food-eating, claustrophobic cesspool with a Napoleon complex that New Yorkers commonly referred to their smaller rival as. Really, the bar had been low, but Philly had so far surpassed his every expectation. They’d been to the zoo, the art museum, the natural history museum, and tomorrow they were set to visit the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, The President’s House ( _no not the White one_ ), and the National Constitution Center.

The pair settled into comfortable silence, soaking in the sights and sounds as they skated a few more laps until - “Crap, **crap** , Peter, pretend to be bad at skating for a minute,” Harley hissed, “Flash at 9 o’clock!” 

Peter put his arm around Harley’s waist again ( _god I hope he can’t hear my heart beating faster when he does that)_ , leaning into him with an exaggerated tilt, giving the impression that Harley was the one keeping them both upright when in fact the exact opposite was true. Peter pretended to stumble, and Harley had to quickly stifle the urge to laugh as Flash cut through lanes of annoyed, swerving skaters just to harass them. 

“How many times have you wiped out so far, Penis?”

“Shut up Flash,” replied Peter before Harley could say something far less friendly.

“It’s nothing to be **ashamed** of Penis,” Flash continued, though his tone suggested exactly the opposite. “It’s just gravity. Not everyone can be as athletic as I am - it’s something you’re born with.”

“Or something you’re bitten with,” muttered Harley, soft enough that only Peter would hear it. 

Peter covered his surprised laugh with a cough.

“What was that, Keener?” the bully asked as he turned to Harley.

“I **said** , for someone who makes such a big deal about being straight, you’re surprisingly obsessed with Peter’s genitals.”

This time Flash was the one who stumbled as Peter laughed outright. 

“Pretty homophobic of you, Keener,” retorted Flash, putting on a show of bravado as he grasped at straws. “Implying that gay men just talk about dicks all the time. My cousin is -”

“Oh, bless your heart, you didn’t know?” Harley smirked, leaning into his southern drawl. “My tea’s as sweet as sugar, and **_fruity_ **, if you catch my drift. So before you start calling this homo a homophobe you might wanna back off, honeybee.”

Flash fled, a perfect embodiment of the phrase _“tail tucked between his legs”_. Harley bid him good riddance and turned to Peter, who was laughing so hard that it was a miracle they were both still upright, let alone skating in the right direction. Peter tried to steer them toward the wall as they finished the lap and neared where MJ was standing on the other side, but Harley did his best to redirect them toward the rink exit instead. “Would you be okay if I got out now?” he asked hesitantly. “I was having fun at the end I swear but Flash will be watching, and it’ll be real hard for you to keep pretending like you suck at it and keep me from falling on my ass at the same time.”

Peter effortlessly steadied their course toward the exit, still laughing. “Yeah that’s probably a good idea. It … god his **face!** It was perfect, you were perfect.” 

Harley blushed at the compliment, though he was certain Peter hadn’t meant it the way he wanted. 

_Bad. Bad Harley. Stop pining._

“You should keep skating though! You were having fun. I’ll just chill out here with MJ, get some ice cream or something.”

“Nah, like you said, Flash will be paying extra attention now. Besides, ice cream sounds like a **really** good idea.”

“My birthday’s coming up,” Harley pointed out as they stepped off the rink and headed toward the locker room. If he’d thought it was hard to skate on a rink designed specifically for that purpose, it was even harder not to completely wipe out on pavement. Once again, though, Peter slid an arm around his waist to steady him, strong but infinitely gentle. Harley tried and failed to ignore every point of contact between them. “I could ask Tony to rent out a roller skating rink, just for us and Ned and MJ and Avengers. So you could go all out and skate as well as you want.”

Peter frowned. “That doesn’t sound particularly fun for you, though. Wouldn’t you rather do something **you** like?”

Harley shrugged as best as he could, considering his precarious balance and proximity to Peter. “Like I said, I was having fun with you at the end there, until Flash had to go and be an ass.”

Peter chuckled at the reminder. “You were amazing. But I … I didn’t realize you were gay?”

Again, Harley gave a half-shrug. “I don’t try to hide it, but it’s not something I typically go announcing to the world either. Guess I got that knocked into me young, growing up in Tennessee.”

Peter nodded. “Makes sense. I’m sorry. Living in New York that’s not something I’ve had to deal with, at least not as much as I’m sure you did.”

“Wait, you’re…”

“Bi,” Peter clarified. 

Harley blinked. _Well, fuck. So much for that 98% estimate._ Harley wasn’t used to being so off on his math.

Suddenly, it was a **lot** harder to ignore Peter’s arm around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google “Blue Cross RiverRink Summerfest” if you want to see the rink they’re skating at in this chapter! They turn it into an ice skating rink in the winter too, it’s really cool ❤️


	5. The City of Not-So-Brotherly Love (Philadelphia part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three "I'm sorry"s are in order before I start this chapter: 
> 
> 1) I'm SO sorry it has taken me this long to update  
> 2) I'm sorry for the angst in this chapter, I promise I did not set out to do it, shit just happened as I was writing and I went with it  
> 3) I'm sorry especially to twenty3, because I feel like the end of this chapter is probably the most incongruous with The Runaway so far? I know that this isn't a something that Harley would keep from Tony, but I hope at least that it's easy to believe they had this conversation off-screen from your fic.
> 
> Just as the last chapter, this takes place in Chapter 20 of The Runaway, as will Philadelphia part 3.
> 
> Also big thank you to FrogOnAToadstool and f0reverl0st for helping with with my godawful writer's block :)

5

Harley eyed the ice cream parlor on the corner of Front & Market with an equal mixture of curiosity and distaste. Curiosity, because its old-fashioned exterior and thousands of 5-star Google reviews promised a cool 1900s-style soda parlor experience with unique ice cream flavors that were widely considered to be the best in Philadelphia. And distaste, because said old-fashioned 1900s-style soda parlor was absolutely filled to the brim with people. 

Just as Harley was beginning to weigh his desire for nostalgic dessert and decor against the sheer number of others who apparently wanted the same, Peter stopped mid-sentence and groaned. Though he had only been half paying attention to the other boy’s diatribe on Toph’s character development in “Avatar: The Last Airbender”, Harley somehow doubted that **Peter,** of all people, had suddenly run out of things to say on the subject. 

He looked toward Peter and tilted his head in a silent question.

“I left the noise-cancelling earbuds Mr. Stark and I made back at the hotel,” Peter grimaced. “And I can hear that” - he gestured toward the line which now extended out of The Franklin Fountain and spilled onto the sidewalk - “from all the way over here.”

Harley winced in sympathy.

Peter, clearly misinterpreting the expression, rushed to reassure Harley that he’d be more than happy to just wait outside while Harley went in and apologized profusely for forgetting the earbuds. 

“I’m not going to **leave** you for that long, Parker. There’s a ton of other places around here. And we only have about two hours before someone notices we’re gone - it’d be stupid to spend all of it waiting for ice cream.”

“But I know you really wanted to try their special hydrox cookie flavor, and -”

“Tourists?”

Harley looked up to see a girl in her late teens or early twenties standing a few feet away. The shade of her orange glasses frames precisely matched that of her t-shirt, which read “Trump’s Toupee is a Horcrux”. 

Peter’s startled expression at her sudden appearance was proof enough that she meant no harm, as it was clear his Spidey senses hadn’t warned him of her presence. Because of this, Harley had no qualms in replying honestly. 

“That obvious, huh?” he grinned. 

The girl chuckled. “You’ve got the vibe. No offense.”

“None taken, hun,” said Harley, leaning into his southern accent for the second time in less than an hour.

The girl laughed a little louder. “Well, allow me to offer you a local pro-tip: there’s another shop a few doors down that sells the same ice cream with less than half the crowd size. I’m headed there now actually, if you want directions.”

Harley looked over at Peter, eyebrows raised in question. Peter smiled and shrugged, and Harley could almost hear him saying _“Sure, why not?”_ in that adorable Queens accent. 

_No, Harley_ , he internally corrected himself. _Not adorable. Adorable is what more-than-friends call each other, and you’re just-friend-friends. Stop pining._

“That would be great, if you don’t mind,” Harley said instead, fighting to keep his voice from betraying any hint of his inner turmoil.

Five minutes later, Harley found himself inside a near-perfect replica of a 50s malt shop, standing in a line that was indeed less than half the length of the one he’d seen outside The Franklin Fountain. Orange glasses girl - Ally, apparently - stood immediately in front of him, amiably chatting about their field trip itinerary. 

“When you’re in line to see the Liberty Bell, you should really check out the President’s House exhibit out front. It... ” Ally interrupted herself mid-sentence. “Oh, well it looks like your boyfriend is getting along with my girlfriend.”

Ally jerked her head toward the large window at the front of the store, through which he could see Peter talking with a girl in a black sundress. The girl was excitedly waving what looked to be a hand-drawn paper map, and when she showed it to Peter the boy’s face split into a grin that made Harley’s heart melt.

“Peter gets along with everyone,” said Harley, and he could hear the fondness in his own voice. “But - but we’re not dating.”

Ally smiled teasingly. “Sure you’re not.” 

“Trust me, I **wish** we were,” Harley replied shyly. He’s a little surprised to hear the words coming out of his own mouth so easily, and he recognizes that this is the first time he’s admitted his feelings out loud. “But we’re not.”

Ally’s smile softened. “For what it’s worth, I think he likes you too. Shoot your shot, kid.”

Harley blushed, unsure of what to say.

“Well, since your idiot seems to have really hit it off with my idiot - and Nic usually doesn’t get along with **anyone** , sometimes not even me - do you want to hang with us? That paper she’s got is a map to a Harry Potter scavenger hunt through Old City. We’ve got an hour and a half to find the seven Horcruxes, and it starts in…” she checked her phone “... ten minutes.”

“Oh wow, that sounds awesome! I’ll check with Peter, but I can’t imagine he’d say no.”

Peter did not say no. On the contrary, Peter gave a very enthusiastic yes, earning him a smile from Harley which he belatedly realized was far too fond to be just-friend-friends material. _Maybe he didn’t see?_ Harley fretted. _Yeah. Let’s go with that. He totally didn’t see, otherwise he would have called me out for it by now. To tell me we’re just-friend-friends. Because okay, fine, I admit it, I have a crush on my best friend. But there’s_ **_absolutely_ ** _no way he has one on me. Right?_

And so the pair spent the next hour or so running around the historic Philadelphia waterfront while eating melting ice cream out of Chinese takeout containers, with their two new acquaintances leading the way. 

Whenever he had the opportunity, Harley used the crowded sidewalks as an excuse to stand just a little too close to Peter. 

And maybe it was just wishful thinking… but on a few occasions it seemed like Peter might have been doing the same.

They found Ravenclaw’s diadem on the head of a drag queen dressed as Professor Trelawney, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup outside the first U.S. Mint, and Marvolo Gaunt’s ring in a glass case next to the lush graveyard where Ben Franklin was buried. There was a stuffed snake with a nametag that read ‘Nagini’ in the window of America’s oldest candy shop, Tom Riddle’s diary sat on the shelves of a used book store, and Slytherin’s locket hung from a street sign in the 200-year-old Elfreth’s Alley. In front of each Horcrux they took pictures, to prove to the scavenger hunt organizers that they had been located. Later, Harley would set the photo of him and Peter posing with the Elfreth’s Alley sign as his phone background, with arms wrapped around each others’ waists, pressed close to avoid the other tourists who stumbled over the historic neighborhood’s cobblestones. Peter saved him from a similar fate as they were leaving, and once again Harley marveled at the boy’s fast reflexes.

But no matter where or how hard they looked, Harry Potter was nowhere to be found. There was no trace of the Boy Who Lived at any of the starred locations on the map - not a poster, stuffed toy, actor, figurine - nothing.

With twenty minutes to go until time ran out, Nic turned to Ally with a defeated air. “I know we said we wouldn’t cheat, but it’s hot and I’m caving. Let’s go buy shots.”

The boys exchanged questioning looks.

Ally, sensing their confusion, elaborated as they began to walk back toward Front Street. “The bar that’s hosting the scavenger hunt is doing a drink special. If you order Harry Potter-themed shots, they give you a clue about whichever Horcrux you’re stuck on.

“You guys will have to wait outside, sorry,” Nic apologized. “They card at the door.”

“We’ll be back out in a few minutes though! It shouldn’t be too crowded, most people are probably still out finding Horcruxes.”

They arrived at a bar called The Victoria Freehouse, and Ally turned to wave at the boys as she went inside. 

“The food truck across the street has good water ice,” said Nic, “if you don’t want to just stand here and wait.” She pointed them toward the large yellow vehicle parked across the street, before entering the bar behind her girlfriend. 

“You wanna go to the food truck?” asked Harley once the girls had gone inside. “Or we could check out the park across the street.”

“Water ice sounds good… I think?” replied Peter. “Is that like a slushy?”

“I think it’s a weird name for Italian ice, but close enough.”

“Yeah, that sounds good then. I don’t know about you, but I’m really thirsty. And my metabolism would appreciate the sugar.”

“Let’s get you taken care of then, Spider boy,” teased Harley. 

The pair jogged across the street when there was a break in traffic. 

“You okay with the crowd?” asked Harley quietly as they approached the truck, which they could see now was named _Rose’s Water Ice_. Though there were only three people currently in line, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk as people milled about eating water ice out of patterned paper cups.

“We’re outside, so I should be fine,” Peter replied. “Thanks for checking, though.” He gave the other boy a small, sweet smile, and suddenly Harley understood the rom-com cliche of having butterflies in your stomach. _That’s, like, a real feeling? Wow. I thought it was just a metaphor._

The boys stood in line in comfortable silence, listening to the conversations of others around them coupled with the cries of seagulls circling over the Delaware River and children laughing in the park behind them.

They ordered, paid, and received their desserts. Peter took Harley’s hand so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd, and began to lead him toward a nearby bench that had suddenly been vacated. Harley’s heart beat faster at the contact. _Traitor_ , he silently reprimanded it. _He’ll hear you._

Before they got far, though, Peter abruptly stopped short and swore.

“Language,” teased Harley.

Peter didn’t take the bait. “We forgot spoons. You go get two and I’ll grab the bench before it’s taken?”

Harley nodded, and the boys parted. His skin tingled pleasantly where Peter’s hand had rested just a moment earlier. 

Harley weaved his way back through the sea of people, trying not to be elbowed by strangers and somehow by the grace of the universe succeeding - a feat made all the more difficult by the persistent swarm of butterflies, and the residual warmth of his hand where it had held Peter’s.

The task consumed what little was left of his concentration, and so it was no wonder that he didn’t notice the boy who was eyeing him. Harley reached the water ice truck and leaned around a kind-looking woman standing at the window, grabbing two plastic spoons from a cup on the sill and murmuring a quick apology as he did so. With his mission complete, he turned and skirted around the edge of the truck to avoid the bulk of the crowd…

…and was immediately forced up against its side by a body larger than his own.

All the good, happy feelings that had been building throughout the day popped like a soap bubble. 

The yellow metal of the food truck, hot from hours spent absorbing the sun’s rays, burned his skin through his thin cotton t-shirt. Still, he pressed as close to the surface as he could without thinking - his panicked brain doing some quick mental math and concluding that every centimeter of space he could create between himself and the man looming over him was worth the pain.

“Well you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” The deep voice reverberated through the man’s chest, and Harley shuddered as he felt its echo on his skin. His heart raced, pulse thrumming in his ears. He hadn’t felt this vulnerable since he’d escaped Tennessee, escaped his **father**. “What d’ya say we get outta here, you and me?” His breath reeked of alcohol, and Harley was violently reminded of all the times his dad had cornered him like this. 

_Different reasons, same methods_ , thought the small part of his mind that could still think rationally. 

“No,” said Harley firmly, surprised at how strong his voice sounded. “My, my friend is waiting for me-” 

A strong hand closed over his upper arm and **_squeezed_ **, hard enough that he knew it would leave a bruise.

All at once, Harley’s inner strength vanished. _Don’t fight back. Fighting always makes it worse._

“Wanna try that again?” said the man, not even trying to mask the threat in his tone. 

“I think you heard him the first time.” 

Harley would know that voice anywhere. 

The man stumbled backwards and suddenly Harley could breathe again, as both physical and metaphorical weights were lifted from him.

Suddenly there was another body stepping in front of him, a toned back resting against Harley’s chest, but this time the pressure was comforting because it was **_Peter_ **. Peter was here, and now he was safe, because there were only three people in this world who Harley trusted unconditionally and Peter was one of them.

That day at the mall, what felt like a lifetime ago, when Peter had seen the bruises and learned who put them there… he’d promised that Harley would be safe from then on. And here he was, keeping that promise, physically putting himself between Harley and a person who was threatening him. It made him **feel** safe, and warm, and vulnerable but not in a bad way.

 _How did he even_ **_know_ ** _? He was on the other side of the truck, there was no way he could see what was happening..._

“Get lost, asshole.”

The man was a bully in the worst sense of the word, and drunk, but apparently he wasn’t stupid. He heard the unmistakable power in Peter’s voice, and wisely turned and fled.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Peter turned to face Harley, taking a few steps back to give the other boy room to move away from the hot truck. He looked Harley up and down worriedly. “Are - are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Harley reassured him, stepping forward to close the gap between them once more. “But how did you…?”

“I heard your heart rate go up,” said Peter, shyly looking down at the cracked pavement beneath their feet. “You sounded scared.”

“From all the way across the crowd? How?”

Peter shrugged, still not meeting Harley’s gaze. “I - I’m not spying on you, I promise. Or, not intentionally at least. I just … can’t help it? My senses keep track of people I lo- care about, even when I’m not trying to.” He looked up from the ground, finally, warm brown eyes meeting Harley’s blue. “Is that okay?”

Harley raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Are you seriously asking whether or not it’s _okay_ for you to save my ass? I didn’t think that was something I needed to give you permission for, but going forward you have my **wholehearted** consent.”

Peter shook his head. “That’s not what I meant though. I’m sorry if I you feel like I’m invading your privacy -” 

“Pete, if I had the ability to keep the people I lo… **_care about_ **… safe like you can, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Pun intended.” Now it was Harley’s turn to be shy as he added, “And you’d be on my list too. So please don’t apologize for carin’ about me, darlin’. Thank you. For protecting me, and for carin’.”

Peter flashed him a relieved-looking smile. He raised a hand and placed it on Harley’s cheek, his soft touch the complete opposite of the other man’s harsh grip. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you liked this, and kudos if you haven’t already. Tbh I need the validation right now ❤️


	6. The Magic Gardens (Philadelphia part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA so remember how I said there would be three more chapters? Well, my brain had other plans. So, here we are, this is the end folks, but somehow I don't think you'll be too disappointed ;) 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's stayed with this story to the end <3 And special thanks to sp1deyson for looking this over
> 
> Edit: This is not the end, my brain decided to write a Chapter 7

+1 

Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens were easily one of the top five most beautiful places that Harley had ever seen. 

It wasn’t a list he’d put much thought into culminating before, and so on their last night in Philadelphia, just after they’d left South Street, Harley sprawled out across his hotel bed and thought about what those other four might be. 

The view of New York City from the top of Stark Tower was definitely up there. Sometimes at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d swear FRIDAY to secrecy and sneak up onto the roof of the Tower. And for hours he’d just sit there, taking in the lights of the city - from the skyscrapers, the cars, everything in New York just _glowed_ . Harley still missed the starry nights in Tennessee - a black velvet blanket stretching above him like a canopy, glittering with steady pinpricks of light and making him feel small. But over time, he had grown to like this new kind of sparkling fabric even more, the man-made rainbow of lights spread out below him, making him feel just as tiny as the stars back in Rose Hill did. And unlike the stars, which were cold and untouchable by nature, New York City was _alive_. It was beautiful because it was lived in, because he lived in it, because Tony had carved out a life for him here among these skyscrapers. 

The Magic Gardens were never made to be lived in - they were beautiful in a different way. They were a reflection of life, of soul.

His mother’s garden would be on the list, too. Like New York, it was beautiful because it was lived in. The paths were made to be walked on, the plant beds oriented to make the vegetables accessible for picking and the flowers visible for admiring. But where New York - and the Magic Gardens - were built to last, his mother’s garden was ephemeral. Its need for constant maintenance was a reflection of his mother’s love for it; her presence and daily attention to it made it beautiful. And when she’d died, it had died with her. He’d tried to maintain it, to honor her, but without her green thumb and steady love it withered in the Tennessee sun. 

The Magic Gardens were a different kind of art. Soft grass was supplanted by hard tile. Sharp edges of broken pottery pressed into mosaics replaced the delicate curves of petals. Instead of leaves and vines cultivated for their own beauty, there were objects of daily life, arranged into patterns that **made** them beautiful. 

The pond near his home back in Rose Hill was just as natural, but unlike his mother’s garden it had remained long after the Snap. It survived on its own, endured without need for human care. It was still there, probably, though Harley knew he’d never set foot in the place again. The memories were too painful. Every inch of shoreline, every boulder high enough for jumping off of and tree branch strong enough to swing from, held memories of his sister. It had been his and Lacey’s favorite place to spend hot spring and summer days, and he hadn’t set foot there since she’d died. Nor did he want to. As long as he stayed far away from it, those memories would remain untainted by everything that made him leave Rose Hill.

His sister’s pond (because that’s how he would always think of it) and his mother’s garden were beautiful because they were reminders of his old life. Of what the Snap had taken away from him. But his mental images of the Magic Gardens? The undercurrent of love there was only for his new life, post-Snap.

The fourth was harder to come up with. After a bit of reflection, he settled on Kamar Taj. It was cheating, he knew, because he hadn’t actually been to Kamar Taj (yet). But this was his own mental list that he was making just for himself, so, fuck it. Stephen had shown him pictures of the place, let him walk through magic holograms as he recounted stories from his time there. The building and grounds were beautiful in and of themselves, of course - old, and meaningful, with a breathtaking view of the Himalayas that surrounded them. But it was Strange’s stories that brought the place to life, giving the intangible magical images their own kind of weight. Because in those moments, Stephen hadn’t shied away from talking about the personal darkness which had made a home in the shadows of its ancient halls. When Harley had asked, and was in a mental space where he could hear about the struggles of others without being painfully reminded of his own, Stephen had laid his own history bare. As Harley explored the magical renderings, staring in awe at the courtyards and libraries and mountains, the sorcerer had shared how he’d hit rock bottom and built himself back up from those foundations into a better person. And that resonated with Harley. Because that night in Rose Hill? When his father had found his laptop and phone and bank account from Tony, and beaten him so badly he wasn’t sure he’d walk away from it? That had been his own rock bottom. So while Harley had never seen that hidden sanctuary with his own eyes, he had seen it through Stephen’s, and the healing the man had experienced there made it beautiful. 

Kamar Taj’s artistic, objective beauty came from its age, where the Magic Gardens had only been open for just over a decade. But the temple had been a place of growth and healing for Stephen, and even after a year in New York Harley was still growing and healing too. And at the Magic Gardens, Harley had felt another piece of himself slot into place.

So Harley laid on the bed and smiled to himself, closing his eyes so he could relive those moments from earlier that evening, in that beautiful place which now rounded out his top five.

_When Mr. Harrington had told them that they’d be going somewhere called “the Magic Gardens”, Harley had expected, well, a_ **_garden_ ** _. The kind filled with trees and flowers, like his mother used to grow. But as soon as they’d arrived, Harley understood that this place wasn’t a garden in the same sense of the word. It was an aesthetic place of life and beauty, yes, but a durable one. Rather than fragile vines and leaves, the garden had been carefully constructed out of recycled materials - broken pottery, bits of colored glass, coke bottles and bicycle tires. It was an urban oasis cemented into place, filled with old and broken things made new and magnificent, and Harley felt like he could have spent hours and hours there and still not seen every part of it._

_They’d arrived an hour before sunset, and had remained long after its last rays faded. Harley didn’t think he’d ever seen Peter made speechless before, but that first view of the gardens as they’d entered had done the trick. He’d spent whole minutes standing stationary, looking around at the colorful art surrounding them in awe. He reached out for Harley, and when their hands connected, he interlaced their fingers. As the majority of the class went down a set of stairs near the entrance, Peter and Harley escaped down a path with a towering archway. Though they could still hear the words and laughter of their classmates bouncing off the tiled walls, the pair still felt secluded in a way they hadn’t had the room to since they’d arrived in Philadelphia. For a while they were quiet, slowly making their way through the garden, never letting go of one another’s hands, even when they had to walk single-file down narrow staircases or duck through small doorways. They ambled down gently curving paths piled high on either side with worn ceramic dolls, tiny animal statues, tires, and tiles painted with inspirational quotes and poetry and obscenities alike. Human features like eyes and faces and hands were everywhere, on every surface. Like the rest of this place, it was an image of life made from inorganic materials, an uninhabited place of beauty, formed by living hands but not meant to look truly alive._

_And throughout it all, Harley_ **_felt_ ** _alive. He was calm, and present, and so in love with the boy standing next to him. The glass and tiles that magnified the voices of their classmates seemed to do the same for his feelings for Peter, and the voice in his head which constantly berated him for his affection grew mercifully quiet. As dusk began to fall, the temperature dropped by a few degrees, and he felt the other boy shiver where their hands were connected. Without a second thought he shrugged off his jacket and gave it to Peter, who accepted it gratefully. The small smile he gave Harley made the breath catch in his throat. God, this place was beautiful, and so was he._

_Harley hadn’t thought the Magic Gardens could be any more stunning… but then a little more light faded from the sky, and all at once the garden lit up with millions of fairy lights. They were absolutely everywhere, woven into every archway, affixed to every wall, reflected off of every sliver of tile and mirror and glass in the garden. They created an explosion of light and color, illuminating parts of the gardens that hadn’t been as noticeable, and casting shadows on others that were best viewed by day._

_The pair continued to wander, quietly pointing out things they found interesting so the other could appreciate them. Soon, they found themselves in a small alcove hidden from the view of all other visitors. Unlike the rest of the Magic Gardens, there was soil here, out of which real plants sprouted. The only place that true life could grow, in a garden made to reflect but not mimic life._

_And then Peter turned to look at him, brown eyes warm and inviting, and this time Harley didn’t look away shyly, like he had every other time before._

_Without asking for his permission, his heart began to beat faster._

_He knew that Peter would hear it. And for the first time, Harley didn’t_ **_care_ ** _, because the look on Peter’s face removed any doubt as to how his own heart felt._

_And so Harley ducked his head just as Peter’s tilted back, and their lips met. There was an explosion of light and color, and Harley felt that same sense of awe as when the fairy lights had first flickered on. He wrapped both arms around the other boy’s waist, pulling their bodies closer until their chests rose and fell together, and Peter raised one hand to cup Harley’s cheek. The other he twined through Harley’s golden curls. Harley felt him tug just a little on the strands of hair before stopping short._

_He pulled back from the kiss for a moment, gasping for breath. Peter was gasping too, though his superpowered lungs surely weren’t running out of air yet. “I’m not gonna break, Parker. You don’t have to be quite so gentle.”_

_“Are you sure?” Peter’s voice sounded wrecked. “I don’t want to make you feel anything other than happy, Harley.”_

_“You never could, darlin’. I trust you. So you can let go a little.”_

_They leaned back in, and this time Peter didn’t hesitate to tug his curls a bit harder. He walked Harley back and pressed him up against a tiled wall, cradling the back of his head as he did so. The hand he’d held to Harley’s cheek dropped to the front of his shirt, using it for leverage as he pulled Harley closer to deepen the kiss._

_Harley felt the fabric tear, but said nothing. It was Peter. Harley was incapable of feeling anything other than safe with him. His hands had always been infinitely gentle whenever they touched Harley, and so now he didn’t feel threatened by their strength._

So, yeah, the Magic Gardens were definitely in his top five.

He loved the view from Stark Tower because it reflected his life with Tony, and his mother’s garden because it reminded him of her love.

He thought Kamar Taj was beautiful because Stephen had shared it with him, and the pond back in Rose Hill because he’d shared it with Lacey.

And though the Magic Gardens were beautiful in and of themselves, they were in his top five because he’d shared them with Peter. They were an artist’s reflection of love and soul and life that had inspired them to do their own bit of living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it <3 as always I'd love to know what you think. Take care folks


	7. Epilogue: Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao remember how I said that was the last chapter? I mean it this time, I promise XD  
> I considered making this a separate fic, since I'm throwing off the whole "5+1" format here, but this really doesn't make sense without the context of the other chapters so fuck it.
> 
> I'm honestly not sure what chapter of The Runaway this is set in? It's sometime in the interim where Stephen is off in another dimension. 
> 
> Anyway, take care everyone and enjoy <3

Epilogue

The empty beaker slipped from Peter’s fingers and cracked on the tiled floor. 

Harley jerked in surprise, looking up from the new robot he was tinkering on. Peter never broke things in lab - or ever really - and suddenly he’d broken three things in the same day? True, it was late at night, and Peter had looked pretty out of it when he’d stumbled into the lab about a half hour ago, but still, **he** was the klutz in this relationship. Even on those very rare occasions where Peter’s super spider stickiness failed and he dropped something, with his fast reflexes he always caught the object long before it hit the ground. 

Harley opened his mouth to ask if something was wrong, but before he could get a word in Tony beat him to it. 

“Alright, you know the rules kid, three strikes and you’re out. You can start back on new the web fluid tomorrow.”

“But - Mr. Stark,” Peter spluttered, “I can’t, I need to -”

“No, you **need** to leave the lab when your head’s not in the game,” Tony retorted.

“It’s **my** web fluid. I could make it in my sleep.”

Harley’s eyes widened. Peter never talked back, least of all to Tony.

“So then I don’t need to tell you how dangerous the chemicals you work with are.”

“I need the distraction.”

“You’re already distracted enough, kid.”

“And if I get hurt, it’ll be healed by morning.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “That’s not the **point**.”

At this point, Harley had given up all pretense of working on the robot. He left his bench, slowly drifting closer to his boyfriend and adopted father.

“Then what _is_ the point of having super healing? I can’t use it to save other people, so I might as well take advantage of it for myself!”

Tony’s voice softened. “Did something happen on patrol, kid?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harley’s heart broke at the obvious pain in Peter’s voice. He was only a few steps away, now, but before he walked any closer he hesitated. Should he close the rest of the gap, and wrap Peter in his arms like he so desperately wanted to? Or was it better to stay away and give Peter some of the space he was asking for?

“Are you hurt?” asked Tony.

“No.”

“Did someone else get hurt?”

“I **said** I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Pete, whatever happened -”

Peter grabbed another empty beaker off of the lab bench and hurled it at the wall. The force of his throw shattered the supposedly shatter-proof glass on impact.

Harley flinched at the sound. 

_He ducked as a tumbler full of chilled whiskey smashed on the wall just above him._

_Amber liquid splashed onto his head and shoulders, accompanied by shards of glass that left shallow scratches._

He must have made some sort of distressed noise, because suddenly Tony and Peter spun around to face him. Tony was concerned, but Peter looked horrified.

“Harley, I’m so sorry I -”

“Not you,” Harley shook his head instantly, “just the sound.”

Peter looked like he was about to say something else, but Harley cut him off. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Tony’s right, you can come back tomorrow.”

He didn’t protest as Harley took his hand and quietly led him from the lab. When they reached the elevator, Harley broke the silence only to say, “Empire State of Mind protocol please, FRIDAY."

“You’ve got it, mini-Stark.”

“Harley, I -”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

A few more seconds, and the elevator opened onto the roof. 

As they stepped out and the doors closed behind them, Harley exhaled. “Okay, FRIDAY’s not recording. She’ll tell Tony if someone’s in danger, but short of that we’re alone. Figured you might want the privacy.” He turned to his boyfriend and sighed, taking a step closer. “Talk to me, Peter. What's wrong?”

Peter raised his eyebrows as he took a step back. “Are you just gonna ignore the fact that I made you flinch?”

“ **You** didn’t. The sound did.” He took another deliberate step forward. 

Again, Peter stepped back. “The sound that I made. Because I was mad.”

“You’re allowed to get mad, Peter. You’re allowed to get upset. I wish you’d talk to me about what you’re feeling first instead of letting it out that way, but even then, you weren’t throwing that beaker **at me**.”

Peter looked shaken even by the idea. “Harley, I would never do that. Please, please believe me, I could never.”

“And I know that. Which is why I will never feel anything but safe with you.” 

He walked forward, and this time Peter didn’t move away. He opened his arms, and Peter stepped into his embrace with a sigh of relief. Harley tucked his chin over the other boy’s shoulder, winding one arm around his waist and the other into his brown curls. “I know I’m safe with you, Peter Parker.”

“Always,” Peter replied, wrapping his arms around Harley. 

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then please, tell me what’s wrong. No one else is listening, it’s just you and me. Let me help you.”

Peter sighed, warm breath tickling the bare skin of Harley’s neck. “There was a woman, tonight. On patrol. She trusted me too, and -” Peter’s voice cracked, “ - and I let her down.”

Harley felt the sudden dampness of Peter's tears on his neck. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Peter nodded, and began to recount the night’s events. Occasionally he stopped talking as sobs overtook him, and Harley just held him tighter until he caught his breath and picked back up the thread of the story.

When he’d finished explaining, Harley waited a few moments before speaking. “Did you do the best that you could?” he asked softly, running his hand through Peter’s hair in a way he hoped was soothing. 

Peter chuckled wetly. “I’m getting some serious deja vu here, Stark.”

“And my advice hasn’t changed since then,” he defended. “So no retrospect, no ‘maybe if I had done something differently’. At the time, with the information and resources you had, were you doing the best that you could?”

Peter stayed silent for a while, and Harley continued to stroke his hair.

Eventually, Peter replied. “Yeah.” He sounded defeated, his voice hoarse. “Yeah, I was.”

“Then you didn’t let her down.”

They spent the next few minutes in silence. Harley looked over Peter’s shoulder at the nighttime lights of New York City spread out below them.

“Throwing that beaker at the wall, though - I wasn’t doing my best. I scared you.”

Harley shook his head. “I was startled, not scared. And you don’t need to apologize, but I forgive you anyway. You helped put me back together baby, you and Tony, and Stephen. I’m not gonna break again.”

Harley closed his eyes, again thinking of _the sound that tumbler made when it shattered, the sting of glass shards, the pungent coldness of whiskey as it drenched his hair and shoulders._

He wasn’t going to break again. 

The boy who’d escaped to New York, who’d showed up at Tony’s penthouse soaking wet and scared of his own shadow - he’d grown up, in the past year. He’d glued himself back together, with the help of his new family. And he’d gotten stronger.

His father was long dead now. Harley didn’t believe in ghosts, but just in the incredibly small possibility that Jack Keener could see him right now, he held up the hand that wasn’t entwined in Peter’s hair and raised his middle finger.

_He wasn’t going to break again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all she (I) wrote folks! Let me know what you think of this last chapter, it’s the last I’ll be writing in a WHILE and I thrive off of validation lol.


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